


But If My Love Be Clad In Blue

by PsychicPineapple



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Bilbo Remains In Erebor, Consort Bilbo, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-03
Updated: 2015-02-03
Packaged: 2018-03-10 06:51:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3280814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PsychicPineapple/pseuds/PsychicPineapple
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fill for the prompt - "BILBO AND CORONATION OF THE CONSORT"<br/>_______</p><p>Bilbo stared doubtfully into the looking-glass, dismayed. By all accounts he should have been overjoyed - it was, after all, an occasion of great honour. Many preparations had been made; the fires in the grandest halls were lit, dignitaries from across the realm had arrived, and a great feast was prepared. Erebor had hardly seen such a celebration in centuries, and yet all Bilbo could think was how dreadfully silly he looked.</p><p>There were just so many <i>layers</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	But If My Love Be Clad In Blue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kelmikiti](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kelmikiti/gifts).



> Originally posted on tumblr, this was supposed to be a drabble for [Kelmikiti's](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Kelmikiti) prompt "BILBO AND CORONATION OF THE CONSORT" - but it ran a little long. 
> 
> Also I wrote it under the influence of two bottles of moscato and very little sleep. Be gentle. 
> 
> Title is from an old Scottish rhyme - _But if my love be clad in blue/his love for me is very true._

Bilbo stared doubtfully into the looking-glass, dismayed. By all accounts he should have been overjoyed - it was, after all, an occasion of great honour. Many preparations had been made; the fires in the grandest halls were lit, dignitaries from across the realm had arrived, and a great feast was prepared. Erebor had hardly seen such a celebration in centuries, and yet all Bilbo could think was how dreadfully  _silly_ he looked.

He’d awoken alone, as was Dwarven custom on such occasions, and found the outfit neatly laid out in his chambers. Balin had warned him to expect it, but had never taken the time to describe the clothing in any detail - for reasons that were now abundantly clear to Bilbo.   
  
There were just so many  _layers_. First a simple cotton tunic in a deep blue, which was actually, in Bilbo’s opinion, quite a fine piece of tailoring. But then came the over-shirt, made of heavy iron scales, edged in gold, that hung down past his knees. There was a narrow belt of gold and Mithril with which to cinch it, which Bilbo found terribly ostentatious. Then came a doublet, also in blue, to be worn unbuttoned to better display the finery beneath. Then came a second belt, thick and heavy, a pair of intricately engraved silver greaves and fur cloak so long it trailed behind Bilbo for several feet.   
  
Once the whole outfit was assembled - which was no mean feat - Bilbo had turned to the mirror. He was, he supposed, meant to feel regal and majestic. In reality, he felt absurd. He looked nothing like a Hobbit, yet laughably unlike a Dwarf. He was starting to sweat in his prison of metal and cloth, and could only imagine how he’d look when he came staggering through the mighty halls of Erebor in such ridiculous garb.

There was a knock at the door, firm but tentative, and it pulled Bilbo from his worried reflections. ‘Come in,’ he called, taking laboured steps towards the entryway. 

Thorin entered, and Bilbo’s breath caught. He looked every inch a King of Erebor; clad in steel and gold and jewels, with his heavy crown perched atop his head as if weighed no more than a feather. His hair was clean and combed, braided neatly, with well-polished beads that shone in the torchlight. 

Thorin looked at Bilbo, his eyes raking him over from head to toe to take in his ceremonial dress - and he laughed long and heartily. 

'Well!' Bilbo huffed, affronted, 'not all of us can make such fine figures!' He pulled his cloak closer around himself. 

'Oh,' Thorin sighed, laugher subsiding, 'Are these the clothes they chose for you?' Bilbo nodded, looking down at himself with a rueful frown. Thorin stepped closer, reaching out to pull the fur cloak back. 'Do you like them?'

'I hardly think that matters,' Bilbo sniffed, snatching at the cloak. 'Balin says they're traditional. I drew the line at boots, though. I must keep a little Hobbit-ness about me, after all.' He twitched his toes, and Thorin smiled fondly. 

'My dear, dear Bilbo.' Thorin closed the distance between them, his fingers reaching forward to deftly unfasten the cloak. 'They are  _very_ traditional.’ He reached down to unclip the belt, letting it fall the floor with a thud. ‘Certainly it’s what any usual King’s Consort would be expected to wear on the day of their coronation.’ He circled Bilbo, easing him out of the doublet, and unhooking the Mithril belt beneath. ‘Arms up,’ he murmured, and Bilbo complied, eyes fixed on his husband’s face. Thorin pushed the iron scales up and up until he could help Bilbo shrug out of them entirely, and cast the shirt aside. He turned back to Bilbo, who was left in only his trousers and the handsome blue tunic, and took his hands. ‘But when, my Hobbit, have we ever been traditional?’ 

Bilbo felt love and affection well up within him until he felt fit to burst. Thorin’s hands were steady in his, his gaze unwavering. ‘But,’ Bilbo glanced away, ‘you look so fine, Thorin. I should hate to disappoint people. I should - I should hate to disappoint you.’ He stared down at his feet, suddenly feeling nervous in a way he hadn’t felt around Thorin in a long time. It was an advantageous viewpoint, as it turned out; he had a perfect view of Thorin leaning down and unbuckling his boots. It took some doing (never let it be said a Dwarf’s boots are insecure) but soon Thorin’s large, relatively hairless feet were bare to the world. He wriggled his toes experimentally, and Bilbo smiled. 

Thorin reached out, tilting Bilbo’s chin up until their eyes met. ‘Ours is not just a marriage of two people, it is a marriage of Dwarf and a Hobbit. I would no sooner have you abandon your ways than I would abandon mine, but,’ he inched forwards until his toes were touching Bilbo’s, his arms winding around his lover. ‘Perhaps we would do well to meet somewhere in the middle.’ 

Bilbo felt there was no proper response but to lean up and kiss him, and so that was what he did. Thorin responded with zeal, pouring his fervent affection into the kiss until it was done. He pulled back, twining his fingers with Bilbo’s and gently tugging him towards the door. ‘Come, my love. They’re waiting.’ 

'All right,' sighed Bilbo, trailing after him. 'But are you sure - about the clothes?' 

Thorin nodded reassuringly, ushering him through the door. ‘Besides,’ he leant down to whisper, his voice full of promise, ‘the less clothes you leave in, the less I’ll have to tear off you after the feast.’ 

And if Bilbo looked a bit glassy-eyed during the ceremony, as he stood next to his bare-footed husband, well, he had other things on his mind.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed it! Thanks for stopping by. Comments and kudos appreciated. Find me on tumblr at scottmotherfuckinmccall.tumblr.com ;)


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